"Make New Friends, But Keep the Old"

We’d lie in adjacent twin beds in the dark and pretend we were paralyzed. There was always a bad guy who wanted to harm us. I don’t remember how our stories ended. I bet we took turns being the hero.

We were in grade school and inseparable. We drew horses, played horses, rode horses, and collected china horses for which we beaded bridles and built cardboard stables.

I'm second from the right. Crying? My best friend has my back.

My mother still feels badly about separating such good friends. I was 12.  We drove west toward the sun for a better job for my father thousands of miles away.

These days, friends are much on my mind. In the last week I’ve been friendship time traveling. Last Friday, a friend of four decades drove 400-plus miles to visit for the weekend. On Tuesday, I saw my childhood chum for only the third time since we left Virginia for California more than a half-century ago. And yesterday, a new friend – of just four months – invited me to lunch to meet her friends.

What makes a friend?  For a child, proximity is paramount. A common background helps and is especially helpful when parents are granting permission for possibly dangerous sleepovers.

In adulthood, proximity still helps but it is shared experiences, such as college and work, that foster friendship. A common worldview and sensibility – for me, a sense of humor is essential – can be nutrients that nurture relationships.

If you are lucky (in my view) and have children, they will introduce you to more people, prescreened as parents and guardians for those common interests:  your children. The ease of proximity returns, including hours in stands or on sidelines of any number of sporting or school events.

In retirement, especially if you move, it takes more work. One website suggests walking your dog.  I do that.  It also recommends simply getting outside.  I do that.  It also suggests working out, volunteering, and joining a faith community.

Check. Check. Check.

That’s how to get connected. But what about staying connected?

Economists say there’s no such thing as a free lunch. You will pay for it one way or another.

A good friendship takes time and effort.

Staying connected for the inestimable rewards of friendship takes work:  Driving 400 miles, writing letters (okay emails), making real phone calls, remembering special occasions, and above all, listening and sharing your friend’s joys, difficult times, and sorrow.

And, revealing yourself as well.

My old friend is closer now. It’s only one state line to cross, not an entire continent. It’s worth the drive. Maybe her guest room has twin beds. With bodies that are closer to what we only imagined decades ago, maybe this time there won’t be any bad guys, just the comfort of a long friendship.

Only My Hairdresser Knows for Sure

Everybody waves. When I am out walking, drivers passing by wave. The wave can just be a slight lifting motion, raising the hand from the steering wheel; nonetheless it’s a greeting and acknowledgment of fellow humanity.

Everybody chats. Or so it seems, as I go from errand to errand. I encounter outgoing grocery store checkers, talkative hardware store employees, conversational postal clerks and more. All have time and ready smiles.

Whether it is from being farther south or living in a smaller community, or who knows what else, people are friendly.

Up to a point.

As I’ve written here, I know it will take time to feel at home here. Last week, I came across a story that perfectly captures what it feels like to be a newcomer.  In her new book on Theodore Roosevelt and William Howard Taft, Doris Kearns Goodwin talks about Roosevelt attending his first political meetings in New York City.

Roosevelt wrote in his autobiography that he “went around there often enough to have the men get accustomed to me and to have me get accustomed to them” so they could get past what Bret Harte called “the defective moral quality of being a stranger. ”

So, it’s not me. That’s a relief! My defect is being new. People need to get used to us.

TR’s was a good approach; it clearly worked for him. Among other things, familiarity breeds familiarity.

Little did I know I was following such a colorful and estimable role model when I started attending local political meetings last September. I just knew I wanted to meet some like-minded people and to contribute.

However, there’s another Roosevelt who is providing guidance to me as I attend meetings and start to make my way in our new community.

Eleanor Roosevelt famously said (you can read this quotation on everything from shirts to plates to lunchbags and more):

“Do one thing every day that scares you.”

I thought I was doing that already by putting myself in so many new situations, including yoga and personal training. But, those are all small potatoes compared with what’s coming.

Our county’s newly formed Democratic women’s auxiliary chapter holds its first fundraising event next month. It’s a “Lunch With Legends.” Every member is expected to portray a legendary woman. Our leader, who is tall and articulate and striking as well as African-American, will be Sojourner Truth. Another member, I am confident, will be an excellent Rosa Parks.

I may be a longtime speechwriter, but ghostwriters put words in other peoples’ mouths. We are not at the podium or even on the dais. Public speaking, much less public performance, scares me.

But, Mrs. Roosevelt, what’s retirement for, if not for trying new things and expanding horizons? And, here’s a big positive about being a newcomer:  I won’t know many of the people in the audience.

I’ll be the stranger and I hope not a defective one.

During the event’s planning discussion I spoke up, which is easy in the comfort of a small group in a small room.  I said I would portray Ann Richards.  After all, I’m a native Texan and the late governor, leader and remarkable public speaker made me proud to hail from the Lone Star State.

I can stand and deliver. I will research. I will practice. I will find a suitable suit with brassy buttons. But, can I look like Ann Richards?

Only my hairdresser knows for sure.

 

My role model

Of Pax, Peace and Patience

We should be in the desert now. We’d be staying poolside in my sister’s casita. The afternoon temperatures would reach into the mid-80s – perfect for swimming, bicycling, and enjoying the scenery and the spirituality of the nearby Indian Canyons.

Instead, as I wrote last week, the road trip is canceled and it’s 27 degrees and winter storm Pax is bearing down on the Carolinas.

(I’m with my former boss who asked, “Who names winter storms, anyway?”)

The flashlights are freshly loaded, the wood stacked, the snow shovel retrieved. Best yet, I found my skis. If Pax drops enough white stuff, even though we’re not traveling cross country, I can traverse our neighborhood on cross-country skis.

Yes, I mourn the loss of our trip, but in addition to the fun of snow play, perhaps Pax can help bring the peace and calm that I am looking for and hoped would come from the road trip. Because, while I’ve been retired six months and so much has changed, so much is the same.

I still make daily lists. I still get up early (okay, the dog is an accomplice). I still think I should have something to show for myself at the end of the day. And, no, neither clean and folded laundry nor polished floors provide the same satisfaction as a finished speech, a published opinion article or a mentored colleague.

Do other newly minted retirees feel the same way? Or, do others make the transition more smoothly?

Perhaps, in my case, the added relocation wrinkle makes the retirement adjustment more difficult.

I am still amazed and awed by people who retire and move to a place where they know no one. We followed friends.

Thankfully.

I still struggle to find my place in my new community.  I’ve taken up yoga, go to personal training (and, yes, it was by accident), joined a gym, attend political meetings, and Saturday I may just be elected second vice president of a women’s auxiliary organization.

My sister calls this planting seeds. While I may feel like an uprooted tree in unfamiliar territory, one or more of these seeds may sprout and grow into new connections and relationships.

It takes time.

I take comfort in the advice from a dear friend who tells me to give it two years. She should know. This friend takes up several pages in an old-fashioned address book.

Yet, Pax is bringing me peace from my impatience. There’s nothing like a blazing fire inside and falling snow outside to make you stop in your tracks and stop worrying about where you’re going or whether you’re headed anywhere at all.

Now, where did I put the skis?

The Road (Trip) Not Taken

“Boy, you really dodged a bullet.”

So said our daughter when I told her the results of her father’s MRI and the surgical procedure scheduled for February 4.

Today.

Wait, February 4 was to be the first day of our cross-country road trip. As I write this, we should be in South Carolina right now – on I-85 somewhere between Spartanburg and Greenville.

Instead, the alarm went off at 4:30 a.m., far earlier than necessary for a day’s drive to the Drury Inn and Suites in Montgomery, Ala.  Rather than heading off to travel some 5,000 miles covering 15 states, this morning we drove two miles covering 15 blocks to an outpatient surgery center.

Instead of starting my dream trip to watch wintering whooping cranes, visit dear friends and family, and see Tony Hillerman’s Navaho country, I waited while medical professionals repaired my husband’s aching back. I believe the procedure is called “vertebroplasty,” or in layman’s terms, injecting glue or cement into the collapsed area of the vertebra.

“What were you thinking, Mom?”

Okay, I concede; it’s a good question.

I was thinking a road trip would be really fun. And, that we should do it while we still could.

Perhaps that ship has sailed.

Last Wednesday, the vet said our 12-year-old dog should have a suspicious lump on her fanny removed. The surgery could be done before the trip, but Piper would have to wear one of those Elizabethan collars for about 10 days until the stitches were removed.

The next morning at his appointment to get the MRI results my husband learned that there was good reason for his back pain; he had a compression fracture. When pressed, the doctor said he could go on the road trip, but…

He would have to wear a lumbar support brace, walk very little and stay flat on his back as much as possible.

So, my dream trip could have been thousands of miles of keeping a dog from licking her wound and stabilizing a less than stable spine.

What was I thinking?

So, one back brace, one Elizabethan collar and 15 different accommodations -- some more pet friendly and ADA accessible (Note:  I have come to greatly appreciate the Americans with Disabilities Act) -- than others.

“But wait, there’s more,” as the Ronco pitchman famously said.

“Mom, I looked at your route; you were going to some really remote places. I had visions of you stuck somewhere with no cell-phone coverage.”

Now, I know at some point the children become the parents.  The tables turned, as Wordsworth wrote.

But, so soon already?

Yet, it is heartening to hear a voice of reason from someone I well remember as an adolescent.

Okay. Okay. I hear you. 

But, maybe there’s still a road trip to be taken in our future.

Let’s get Piper’s biopsy results, heal, ditch the durable medical equipment, and plan a shorter adventure. Maybe our first trip should have South Carolina as the destination and not a waypoint.